


stride into sunset

by blackkat



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [70]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Found Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, fanfic of a fanfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 13:57:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12727890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: The kiss is nearly chaste, but also fierce, determined.We are strong enough to survive this, it seems to say, and Sirius can't help but laugh against Godric's mouth, wild at the edges, because theywill. Both of them have survived this world, survived more than anyone ever thought they would, and there's nothing that can cripple them. All the things that have happened, all the losses, and they're still standing.(Or, Godric and Sirius, in a possible future. Follows from what could conceivably happen inAnd the brave man with a sword.)





	stride into sunset

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [And the brave man with a sword](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3652266) by [blackkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat). 



> For an ask on my Tumblr: Please don't make me ship Sirius/Godric, I'm already seeing hints of how it would work
> 
> (People should know by now not to phrase things in ways I could possibly interpret as dares. :P)

It’s been a very long time since Sirius was last in Godric’s Hollow. Almost fifteen years, to the day, but the town itself has changed very little. He lingers for a while in front of James and Lily’s grave, but the sun is coming out, warm across his shoulders, and there's a gentle breeze picking up, rustling the petals of the flowers he brought. This isn’t the kind of day to spend in a graveyard, and he turns away, heading up the lane on foot.

Apparation would be quicker, maybe, but Sirius is still too close to the days when his entire life was lived inside a tiny cell, and having open space around him remains something of a novelty. He breathes in the fresh air, the smell of summer rising on the breeze, and doesn’t rush even when the weathered grey stone of the old manor house comes into view.

It’s a pretty place—prettier in the summer than in the snow, like it was the last time Sirius saw it. There's ivy crawling thick and verdant up the front of the house, and the stone walk is lined with fruit trees already burdened with ripening fruit. Windows stand open, pale curtains billowing out in the breeze, and roses climb the squat tower to spill across a high balcony. There's something vaguely reminiscent of a castle about the whole thing, but smaller, warmer, and Sirius smiles a little as he approaches.

He’s barely ten yards from the front door when it flies open, and Harry stumbles out, almost tripping over the largest kneazle Sirius has ever seen. The massive red-gold beast shoots through his feet and leaps for one of the fruit trees, scrambling up the trunk with a yowl and vanishing into the branches, which tremble with the kneazle’s clear indignation.

“Sirius!” Harry says with clear delight, hopping down the steps only to pause. He looks down at himself a little sheepishly, and Sirius has to laugh, because he’s absolutely _soaked_. “Er, sorry. Androcles needed a bath.”

“Did Androcles get the bath or did you?” Sirius teases, pulling out his wand. He charms Harry's clothes dry with a sweep, then steps forward and catches his godson in a tight hug.

“It was probably about seventy percent me and thirty percent him,” Harry admits, gripping Sirius tightly in return. When they pull apart, he’s grinning, and it’s an entire world away from the angry, resentful boy he was a year ago. “I didn’t realize you were coming.”

“I thought I’d surprise you.” Sirius grins back at him, then offers up the box he carried all the way from Diagon Alley. “Happy early birthday. Careful, don’t shake it.”

“You’re a whole month early,” Harry points out, but he takes the box cautiously, eyeing the holes cut into the side. “Can I open it?”

“You’d better, and quickly.” Sirius was worried he’d have to charm the box silent to keep the surprise, but thankfully the occupant quieted down halfway through the flight. “Inside might be best, though.”

Curiosity is bright on Harry's face, and he turns and heads back towards the house. “Godric’s in the kitchen,” he calls over his shoulder. “Are you coming?”

“Ah, to be so young and impatient,” Sirius laments as he follows, mostly to see the face Harry pulls at him. “Having a good summer so far?”

“Brilliant! Godric’s teaching me how to use his sword!” Harry's voice echoes down the hall as he leads the way deeper into the house. It’s all sunlit and warm, and the wood glows in the light pouring through the many windows. Sirius looks around, admiring, because he was hardly in a fit state to appreciate it last time, but Godric’s home is lovely. To be expected from one of Hogwarts’s Founders, perhaps, but it’s about the furthest thing Sirius can imagine from Grimmauld Place, and almost enough to tempt him into buying a home in the country. Maybe even nearby, so Harry can split his time between his legal guardian and his godfather.

“Godric, Sirius is here!” he hears Harry call, and follows the sound to the end of the hallway, where it opens out into an airy kitchen. Godric is at the counter, vegetables chopping themselves as he washes potatoes, and in the sunlight his hair glows crimson where it falls to frame his face. As Harry sets his box down at the dining table, he looks up and smiles, a thread of mischief in the expression.

“Oh?” he asks lightly.

Harry gives him a narrow look from behind his glasses, then rolls his eyes. “You knew,” he accuses. “Why didn’t you tell me he was coming?”

“Must have slipped my mind,” Godric says cheerfully, and waves a hand. The potatoes whirl away to the cutting board, dancing underneath the steady movements of the knife there, and Godric rinses his hands, then turns to give Sirius a friendly nod. “Good morning. I didn’t hear your bike.”

“Left it in the village,” Sirius explains, and can't help looking the other man over. He seems relaxed, and his smile is far easier than the last time Sirius saw him, right on the heels of the last battle. Harry's probably helped with that, he thinks, and knowing that he can't regret the fact that Harry chose to stay with Godric rather than with him in London. “It seemed like a nice day for a walk.”

Godric glances out the largest window, overlooking a broad garden, and his smile takes on a faintly wistful edge. “It is,” he agrees, and Sirius wonders which of the others he’s thinking about right now. Maybe all of them at once; that’s the way of grief, unfortunately.

Still, Godric doesn’t let himself slide back into melancholy at the thought of his friends, his family, asleep underneath the castle they built so long ago. He dries his hands on a towel, and asks, “Would you care for something to drink?”

Before Sirius can answer, though, there's a crinkle of paper, a sound of gleeful surprise, and a quiet mew. He turns to see that Harry has to top of his present open, the lid still in his hands as he gapes at the kitten trying to climb out and get to him. She’s seal-brown traced with gold, eyes still kitten-blue, and she reaches for Harry instinctively, crying plaintively.

“I—is it—?” Harry wavers, clearly wanting to reach for her, then turns to look at first Sirius and then Godric with wide eyes. “I can keep it?”

“Her,” Sirius corrects, and he couldn’t fight a grin if he tried. “She’s only half kneazle, like Crookshanks, but I thought that might be easier for the hell-beast to accept into the household.”

“Androcles is perfectly fine,” Godric objects, rolling his eyes, but he smiles at Harry as well. “She’ll be a bit easier to handle than a full kneazle, too. Hopefully, at least.”

“Does she have a name?” With utmost care, Harry reaches into the box and scoops the kitten up, cradling her carefully. Meowing, she reaches up to pat at his glasses, and he grins, wide and wondering.

Sirius leans against the counter, just watching, and it feels like his chest is full of sunlight. “No, not yet. She was only just weaned last week. The breeder knew I was looking and owled me as soon as she was ready to go.”

Godric chuckles. “Why don’t you take her up to your room and let her get settled?” he suggests. “And check your closet while you’re at it. My half of the present should be of some help.”

Harry cradles the kitten to his chest, and the expression of wonder isn’t fading. “I—thank you,” he says, and he sounds _happy_. Sirius will never stop finding that wonderful. “Thank you both. She’s—fantastic.”

Sirius waves him off with a smile, and listens to the quick pad of steps retreating down the hall and then up the stairs before he turns to look at Godric again. The other man is staring after Harry, expression fond and warm, but when he notices Sirius’s gaze he turns back, letting that same expression fall on him. “That was a good choice,” he says.

Sirius shrugs off the compliment, because it was hardly original or inspired. “He can't take her to school with him, but since he’s already so settled here, I thought it would be good for him to have a pet to come back to, and a cat will deal with him being gone better than a puppy would.”

“Androcles will keep her company,” Godric agrees, glancing back at the pot on the stove. A flick of his fingers has a spoon leaping from a crock near the window and sailing over to stir the curry.

 _I thought she could keep you company as well_ , Sirius doesn’t say, but he studies the line of Godric’s back, the way his shoulders are ever so slightly stooped, and can't help but think it.

He’s grown all too accustomed to empty houses, these last few months.

“Remus wanted me to pass on his hellos,” he offers. “Tonks was having a rough week, so he couldn’t make it.”

Sharp green eyes study him for a long moment, and Godric tilts his head. His hair is just long enough to brush the new scar on his cheek as it slides back, but Sirius doesn’t let himself look at it, doesn’t let himself think of all the things Godric lost in saving their world. The pained awe is hard to fight, when he dwells on it for too long. Sirius lost everything once, too, and he knows exactly how gaping and empty he felt afterwards. That Godric lost so much more, that Helga, Rowena, and Salazar all made the choice they did, with a thousand years of history to tie them together—Sirius can't imagine how deep a hole that leaves.

“Are you all right?” Godric asks quietly, leaning back against the edge of the sink and folding his arms over his chest, and Sirius wonders how he ever could have thought Godric was anything less than bewilderingly, tragically kind.

“I'm going to be a godfather twice over,” he says, and it’s easy enough to mean the cheer in the words. He’s glad for Remus and Tonks, truly. They're going to be brilliant as parents. He smiles wryly, looks up to meet Godric’s steady gaze, entirely free of judgement. “Remus and I could have stayed together for the rest of our lives, but it would have been for the wrong reasons. He helped me feel sane after Azkaban, and I’ll always be grateful for it, but we were just…comfortable together. He deserved more than that.”

“So do you.” It’s quiet but firm, and Godric smiles at the expression of surprise Sirius flashes him, though it’s faintly pained. “Looking for something new can be hard, sometimes. It’s just growing pains, though.”

“Will you?” Sirius asks quietly, because for a moment all he can see is Godric’s face as he sealed that small room deep under Hogwarts, his expression as he shut his friends away, to wait for the day when their magic renews itself enough to keep them alive by itself. Hogwarts will do it in the meantime, but—Godric is going to be alone for centuries, at the very least.

Godric’s smile turns wry. “Salazar was very clear that I wasn’t to sit around and pine for him when I could find love. But…” He tips one shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “I'm just as susceptible to growing pains as anyone else, and for now I have Harry.”

Sirius just looks at him for a long moment, and he’s scarred and tired and solemn in the sunlight, but—Sirius can feel the same loneliness from him that’s been itching beneath his own skin, and he finds himself reaching out before he can think twice. His fingers find their way into bright red hair, as soft as silk against his palm, and he pauses, waiting for a reaction.

He needn’t have worried. In a moment Godric has assessed, adjusted. He leans across the space that’s left between them, fits his mouth to Sirius’s and kisses him carefully, gently, sweetly. His mouth tastes like tea and bergamot, and his skin is sun-warm under Sirius’s hands. The kiss is nearly chaste, but also fierce, determined. _We are strong enough to survive this_ , it seems to say, and Sirius can't help but laugh against his mouth, wild at the edges, because they _will_. Both of them have survived this world, survived more than anyone ever thought they would, and there's nothing that can cripple them. All the things that have happened, all the losses, and they're still standing.

And maybe this is just comfort. Maybe this is just loneliness playing up. But it’s _good_ , and Godric is right. The ache of it is just the newness, just a muscle being stretched for the first time.

Godric’s fingers frame his face as they pull apart, and green eyes catch Sirius’s. Godric smiles at him, and unlike this kiss this is tentative, cautious.

There’s nothing for Sirius to do but kiss him again.


End file.
